


take the blame today

by pleasebelievemylies



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Major character death - Freeform, Past Character Death, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebelievemylies/pseuds/pleasebelievemylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take the blame today

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Easier Day by Little Green Cars. District 9 is for lumber. Unnamed character open to interpretation as Sam, Cas or other (though if as Sam, there's a change in age difference from 5 to 2 years)

There were 24 tributes. There were always 24 tributes. When they were called for District 9, Dean stood tall and took their place. He didn't even recognise the boy's name, but he recognised the muffled cries of joy from the people waiting in the stands. The ones unable to volunteer for the son they love.

He kept to himself during training, despite his mentors advice. On the screen he poured and laughed and adjusted his position so the light would always highlight his cheekbones. Balthazar would always praise him whenever he did that. Sneak a bottle of something awful into his room as a thank you. 

The others didn't like him much. Dean was dangerous. And that was before he scored the highest out of them all, emerging from the room with bruised knuckles. From then onwards, he was a pariah. Even the careers stopped trying to recruit him.

There were 24 tributes. Dean murdered 9 of them throughout the five day long game.

The first two he killed at the Cornucopia. The careers ran towards it, as did a few other brave hearted tributes. He snapped the neck of the girl from district 11 while marching towards the arc of supplies. She'd been standing beside him, dithering in her safety from the careers, naively believing that no one else would hurt her this early on. The first canon turned everyone's heads towards him. The boy from 11 choked back a gasp and turned 180° to sprint away into the alleys.

The second was the boy from district 2. He laughed when Dean reached him, saying that he was glad he'd changed his mind and joined them to survive. It was an axe that Dean plunged into his face, the irony lost on the boy until later that night. The rest of the careers planned a tactical retreat, though the boy's partner vowed revenge on the Winchester with her screams.

When their faces flashed against the sky that night, Dean didn't even recognise them as his own kills.

With a carpenter for a father, Dean had always been good at building things. That's why it was the traps that caught his next two kills. He found a tall building and settled on it's roof, a hole connecting him to the floor below. A red headed girl was caught in a rope and hung upside down three floors below him. Dean waited until she passed out to slit her stomach open, from navel to sternum. 

The next one was a surprise. An experimental bear trap of sorts. The boy managed to release his leg before Dean arrived, but the wound was bleeding heavily. Easy to track. It wasn't until his leg went numb that the boy realised the trap had been coated in poison. He was dying, slow and painful. The capitol claimed it was a mercy kill when Dean plunged a dagger into the boy's skull.

The fifth put up a fight. She got past the remaining traps and faced him on the rooftop. Knives at first, until they were both knocked from their hands. Then it was a flurry of fists, red hand prints around her throat, deep scratches carved into his face. He was behind her, an arm wrapped around his throat when she bit him. Deep. She spit up his blood when she screamed as he dropped her from the roof of the building and watched her as she hit the ground. He remembered her face when it flashed up that night, District 2 emblazoned above her.

The sixth was a career who'd wandered off to have a piss in a nearby building. The others were still in line of sight. Dean dragged him out of view and bashed his head against the wall until it was painted a smudged pink.

Seven was the youngest. She was only 12. But if Dean didn't kill her, someone else would. And as the days hurried by with canons every few hours, no one was playing nice anymore. She'd found a small pool of water that had built up in the concave of a roof and, deeming it safe, leisurely drank and washed in it. Dean held her head down and whispered falsities about how it would be over soon and how it wouldn't hurt if she just relaxed. He stayed holding her body long after the canon had sounded.

The eighth was the boy from district one. He was called Michael. Fuck was he pissed off. Years of training and the careers had fizzled out fast, Michael killing his own district partner in her sleep. He doused the room in gas and set it on fire. Watched the building send smoke into the air like a calling to the remains. _Come and get me._

Dean had an axe again, the blade sharp. Michael had a long dagger, almost like a sword in the golden light. Both weapons were rusty with blood, renewed fresh as they slashed at each other. But Dean was tired, fuck was he tired. All this fighting and then what? Go back to the district? Fake a smile for his family, for the capitol, for the rest of his life? Marry a girl he doesn't love and pretend that all this horror had somehow made him a better person?

Michael knocked the axe from Dean's hands and Dean watched it fall six foot away. Too far. The blade came again, aiming at his throat. Dean swerved it and withdraw the two daggers from his belt. With one hand holding Michael's sword where it was, he thrust one dagger into the boy's eye. The sword dropped. Blood spurted from the socket as Dean withdrew the short blade and stabbed again and again and again, until Michael's face was nothing but collision marks.

The canon sounded. The Capitol claimed their new Victor.

Dean looked up to the sky as the wind churned around him. He wondered if three years ago it would have ended like this. If he'd volunteered back then, when he was 14, would he still have come away victorious? Or would it have been him, barely 12 and only safe for another year, who would have sat in front of the TV and watched as Dean was the one murdered in front of him. Watched the sole 20 seconds of footage as the careers brutally carved him open with slow patience until the canon finally sounded and the camera panned away, disinterested. Watched as John slowly stood and walked out of the door, not to return for days. 

There were 24 tributes. Dean killed nine of them. As the light of the helicopter lit up above him, a bright future of being the Capitol's bitch along with it, Dean plunged the second dagger in to the curve of his throat and up into his skull. And Dean smiled.


End file.
